Need
by Martin Baker
Summary: Captain Hook and Mr. Smee: a love story told through the eyes of the crock. Points of view change throughout, but she is always just below the surface.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Tick, tock,. The sound of the clock resonates through the chill morning air. Small and faint, it is no match for the songs of neverbirds greeting the sun, nor does it equal the volume of lapping wavelets as they play along my scaly hide. A spider dances past along the water, oblivious. A moth flies to conceal its self, pausing not at all to wonder at the rhythmic measure of time made by the tick, tock, tick, that runs forever inside me.

It is my enemy. It is my friend, constant as my own heartbeat. Lazily, I shift my great bulk in the shallow water, resting my head on my paws and looking up at the lightening sky. I am old now. I am old and alone, but for all that, I am content. You cannot know how long I have dreamed of him. The succulent flesh, the eratic pulse. You cannot know what joy I had upon claiming him at long last.

It's a strange thing, joy. It's an alien thing, as far removed from my reptilian mind as music from the mind of a worm. But, even worms feel the vibrations through the ground as the violinist plays soft and low above them. Even they delight at the subtle and unexplained strangeness it imparts. Like me, even they forget when the song fades and the youth with bow and instrument walks away. The earth where he sat grows cold, the worms go on, and nothing remains but what was before.

I hunger. Filled to brimming with his flesh, I long for the taste of another. Warm and living man blood calls to me. I pursue it. Drunk and engorged with last night's kill, I let my thoughts go after you, snuffling and chomping at your ship as it glides ever closer to my island. Oh yes! Come, little pirate man. Bring your crew and your hot man blood, for neverland is not complete without a villain. They all need something to hate as I need something to want, to crave.

It wasn't always like this. Oh no. Once, I was so small I could fit into the palm of your hand. Once, I was small and breakable as a twig, relying on a boy for food, for life. But that, dear little man, is at the beginning of my story, for my tale is interwoven with his so tightly as not to be separated. His tale, in turn, cannot be whole without that of one Oliver smee. How they loved, how they craved each the other. And, dear one, I cannot say, here in the quiet between dreams and adventures, that I did not in some small measure envy that which they possessed. It is their tale I will spin, their lives I will convey as your ship sails unbidden to rest against my shore. Listen well, and know that I love you. I am waiting for you, to hold you in my jaws.


	2. One gift given, one recieved

In all his twelve years, Jimmy Hook had never been to a festival. He wouldn't be there now if it weren't for his aunt Magnolia's new bo. Mr. Bonnington, a school teacher, was enthrawled with the fairer sex, respecting them most for their tenderness toward children. Magnolia Sinclaire was determined to show him how good she was with Jimmy, who for his part was more than happy to comply. He hated her like poison, but the sights and sounds all around him made it all worth it. A juggler twirled flaming swords above his head in wide intricate arcs. Three jipsy women with colorful scarves danced to the song of a pipe and a tamberine. Venders shouted their wares, and children of all ages ran among them, gawking wide-eyed at the merchandise.

"Jimmy darling," aunt Magnolia said sweetly "why don't you go along and play. Make the most of this glorious day." She pressed several gold coins into his palm before making a shooing gesture.

He went. This courtship would be shortlived, and he knew it. Already, Mr. bonnington was casting glances at the pretty young woman playing a saw and balancing a baby on each of her wide hips. Soon, there would be beatings and long days spent practicing his sums or polishing silver. Soon, Aunt Magnolia would visit his bed reeking of whisky and perfume.

"be nice dear," she would say.

On these nights, he gave in without question. There was no other choice. Sweet requests turned to begging, and from there, Aunt Magnolia would fly into drunken rages that made her sober fury look like the gentle scolding of a mother. Jimmy bore the evidence of one such rage where she had set his hand on fire as punishment for refusing her advances. The burn healed, but the mark on Jimmy's right hand was ugly and glaring. He didn't need to look at it to remind him of that night.

Jimmy walked between the clapboard vending booths and stared. There were beautiful necklaces of glass beads, meat pies rapped in bright paper, sacks of sweets bulging at the seems, dolls, and all manner of childhood dreams made real.

"stop thief!" Jimmy spun round at the cry, watching a small figure dart between the stands, a doll clutched tightly to its chest. A girl, Jimmy thought, with full red lips, a round face and a fringe of red hair flopping forward in the creature's eyes. She ran, climbing a tree and jumping over a high gate. Her pursuers gave chase, but Jimmy blocked their path.

"What did she steal?" he asked, fixing the indignant venders with his wide blue gaze.

"A doll," the tallest of them answered. "Hand made and very expensive."

Jimmy held out his hand full of gold. "Would this cover the cost?" he asked.

The three venders exchanged glances before smiling. "That it would," another replied. Jimmy beamed, handing it over. His heart lifted up in to the summer sky. The feelings of admiration for this strangely beautiful girl coupled with the knolege that he, Jimmy, was able to do something for her, something that would insure her the object of her desire, made the boy feel invincible as he strolled down the cobblestone street.

Beneath the shelter of two low-hanging trees, an old man sold shrunken heads and strange shiny beatles in glas globes. There was no line in front of this lone booth. No children with jingling purses swarmed the weather-worn table covered over with a cloth of the finest black velvet.

"well now," the vender said, looking Jimmy up and down with an interest only seen in the old. "A love potion perhaps? Or maybe a scarub for luck?"

"I don't have any money," Jimmy told him.

'No, no you wouldn't." He smiled, shaking his head absently. "Bought a doll for the boy down the path. Seen a lot of trouble, that one." He picked up a small ship carved in black crystal. 'But then, Jimmy Hook, so have you." He turned the bauble over in his hands, and Jimmy watched the veins of gold and scarlet dance through the black. "an impressive trinket, to be sure, but," he set it down again "you strike me as the kind of boy who would want something like this." An egg sat in a shallow seramic dish. "This egg, taken from the deep dark caves of ancient Egypt, is that of a prehistoric crockadile."

Jimmy gaped. "Is it real?"

"Oh, very real!" the man answered "and hard as anything. I'll give it to you in the hide of its mother for a price of nothing at all." He pulled a green leather bag from where it hung on a nail. "This bag was how I came by the egg in the first place. There were twelve of them, each old as time and each bagged just like this." He plunked the egg into the pouch and handed it to Jimmy by the leather drawstring that kept it closed.

"Thank you, sir! Thank you!" Jimmy cupped the egg in both hands, stroking it through the shining rough material of its sack. "I'll take care of it, I promise!"

"See that you do." The old jipsy chuckled. "I think, perhaps, aunt Magnolia will want to see what you bought. Show her that and she'll be satisfied."

Jimmy left, humming to himself, the precious bag swinging from one hand as he walked. He stopped, thinking better of the egg's position for a moment before cradling it to his chest. "Baby crockadile," he mused. "Mine."""""""""""""


	3. One end, one beginning

"You bought a rock in a bag?" Aunt Magnolia couldn't hide her dirision as she looked at the pouch Jimmy held in both hands.

"It's not a rock, Aunty," Jimmy explained for not the first time on that long, drawn-out carriage ride home. "It's a..."

"Yes yes, a pre-historic egyptian crockadile!" Her laughter was cold and humorless.

Mr. Bonnington, complaining of a stomach ache, had gone home, leaving Magnolia to search for Jimmy and find her own ride. He sat hunched on the narrow bench, holding the egg carefully so the bumpy road wouldn't cause the baby to be shaken. He imagined raising it, feeding it scraps of meat and watching it grow in to a monstrous beast bent on the distruction of anyone who dared to hurt its master.

"What are you smiling about?" Aunt Magnolia's voice snapped Jimmy out of his pleasant imaginings.

"It's a beautiful day, Aunty," Jimmy lied. She fixed him with a dark glare, and as the first drops of rain hit his face, Jimmy realized his mistake.

"It's raining, James," Aunt Magnolia said flatly. I'm paying for this bloody ride down the dismal backstreets of London because the man who brought me left me at a carnival!" Her voice grew louder and higher so that the driver turned a little on his bench, moving aside the curtain to regard the lady passenger.

"Everything all right, Mum?" the gentleman inquired.

Are you wondering what Magnolia Veronica Hook's last words were? If so, little pirate man, I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed in this tale. In order to impart to you the monologue uttered by the woman sitting beside Jimmy in the rain, I would have to tell you more about the woman herself so you would understand the ironic nature of the words coupled with the splintering of wood and screaming of horses as the carriage collided with another going the opposite direction. You may also wonder why the other carriage, laidened with mail, was headed the opposite direction. I, alone with my age-born omniscience, could tell you that as well, but this is not a story of cruel aunts or mailmen. This tale is about a little boy named Jimmy who, after a jolt and a ripping pain, found himself inexplicably flying through the London sky, past clouds pregnant with rain, toward a magical land that would become his paradise, and his hell.


End file.
